


ine-bit-able

by jeweniper



Series: Fic Amnesty 2019 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, College, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 00:07:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20330764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweniper/pseuds/jeweniper
Summary: Kuroo takes another sip and Tsukishima watches the way his eyes flutter closed in satisfaction from the corner of his eye. “Weird question, but you haven’t ever bitten anyone, right? I never clarified last time and, I don't know, I was kind of curious?”Tsukishima continues pouring cream into his coffee and gives him a judgmental side eye. “Why do you ask?” His eyes drop down to the valley of Kuroo's neck between his collarbones, partially exposed in a V neck. Then he stares back at his Americano, stirring with great concentration.





	ine-bit-able

**Author's Note:**

> Congrats to us (well really, to the amazing staff) on that Hugo Award, huh?
> 
> Had this idea for Halloween approximately three years ago, and I try to make August my fic amnesty, where I slap a finish on any wips, especially since I start grad school next month (!!) and will have even less time for writing. I hope this isn't too weird, ahahahaha. I have only followed HQ through half of s3, so I apologize for any OOCness or discrepancies. I think that's about it. 
> 
> Anyway, I've been feeling kind of off about all my writing in general, but I am pleased this finally exists, and I sincerely hope you enjoy it! Woohoo! (Also yay season 4) Thanks for giving this a read!

He's running.

“Hey!”

Scratch that, he's power-walking. Really fast. Enough to hear his breaths panting out quietly as he makes an otherwise silent getaway. Who knew his stamina would betray him after not having touched a volleyball in one measly summer?

“Wait!” 

Tsukishima curses, gripping the Americano close to his chest and lamenting the alleyway he's turned into. What kind of college cafe has a closed alleyway near it? The thudding footsteps near, and he sighs, resigning himself to the inevitable. So much for his unremarkable debut into college life. How was he supposed to know Foregrounds stood right across from the Varsity team's gym, in addition to having the campus' best coffee?

“You really use those long legs to your advantage, huh Tsukki?” Kuroo, who has not stopped playing volleyball, is hardly winded. Tsukishima takes the opportunity to watch the sun shimmer over his thick black hair, glisten over the remnant sweat drops from practice and reflect off of the planes of his prominent canines. Sadly, he must admit that he still looks good, even after all this time. “It's been so long, congrats on making it into college! You should have told me you were applying here! We're friends, afterall.”

Tsukishima does not focus on how the sleepy slant to his eyes is still mirrored in the lazy curve of his smile, does not acknowledge his relief at seeing this whole languid picture again. “Hi Kuroo. Didn't think it was relevant.”

If he's offended by Tsukishima's usual aloofness, he doesn't show it, instead grinning with good nature. “You were what, a sophomore in high school when we last talked? Your canines had hardly begun budding, and now look at them.” He admires them almost proudly and Tsukishima resits the urge to prod them with his tongue. “How was the transition? Didn't get Nonbiter's Fatigue or anything?”

He snorts. “You know that's a myth, right?” Something tickles his nose and he brings the coffee up for a sip, finally moving towards the open end of the alleyway. There's no point in standing here all day when he's got Intro Chem in just a few minutes.

“Is it?” Kuroo slides into step beside him and they take a right up the worn cobblestones of the hill in a few moments of easy silence. Tsukishima is about to ask if he has, like...anything else to do, when he speaks up again. “Oh yeah! We're having a little get together at my place the Friday after next to celebrate some of the Education majors getting internship placements. You should come! It's not a big party or anything.”

He's studying the thickness of Kuroo's neck from where it slides along his jaw to its shy disappearance beneath the hem of his shirt when he realizes he's meant to respond. “Um, yeah. Okay. Will Akaashi be there?”

“To keep Bo in line, you mean?” He chuckles, eyes sparkling beneath the heavy droop of his lids, “Yeah. Your old manager Shimizu will be too. She's doubling in Education and Literature.”

He nods, turning his attention to the scuffed doors of the Natural Sciences building. It's obvious this is his stop, but Kuroo is still standing just inside the grass, and suddenly he can't remember a polite way to end a conversation. When he turns back with a slight frown, Kuroo is watching him.

“I'm glad we ran into each other, Tsukki. Before we pretty much only knew each other through volleyball, and now I feel like we're getting a chance to start again, you know?”

The sunlight is damp on his neck, hanging heavy in the air around them and adding a weight to those words that he's convinced is his imagination. Unsure what to say, he says nothing. Then a tickle in his throat has him downing the rest of his coffee.

Kuroo snakes a hand through his hair and smiles to himself, before startling. “By any chance, you don't have Intro Chem with Professor Mihara, do you?”

“Yeah? 

“Yikes. Anyway, good luck! Let me know if ever need help with anything.” Before he can comment on that ominous _ yikes _, Kuroo is halfway across the road.

Tsukishima scowls after him, wondering idly what he smells like. Probably pine needles or something good like that? He seems the type. Once he recognizes that thought for the abomination it is, he slams his empty cup into a nearby bin and shoves his way into the building, storming into the classroom with his head down. He doesn't know where it came from, but it doesn't matter. Chemistry matters. He spots Yachi on the far side of the room and heads towards her, thankful for a familiar face that leaves him with a bit less inner turmoil to see.

Later, Tsukishima shuffles back out into the sun with two half-formed study groups, a page and a third of aborted notes, the beginnings of a pounding headache, and the usual dash of existential dread. _ Yikes _ doesn't even begin to cover Professor Mihara's teaching methods. Thankfully the rest of his classes that day go smoothly, and all they do at his first day part timing at the school store is teach him the register and some merchandise organization. He returns to his single later that night, a burrito balanced on top of his bag in one hand so that he can jiggle the doorknob and lean enough to actually get the door open. One day down, a million to go. College might not be so bad.

Of course, the next morning begs to differ. Tsukishima pinches the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses and huffs into the receiver. “Mom, no, I'm not _ biting _ anyone.”

“I'm just saying, you can tell me if you are. Your brother first bit someone in high school, you know.” He knew. “I only want you to stay focused. It's a lot of hormones!”

Her chuckles mix in with the sound of running water, so he assumes she's at the sink. He’s thinking about breakfast in the dining hall since he’s already up, and has to remind himself that he's in the middle of a conversation. “What?”

Her volume climbs, sounding shrill in his ear, “The biting, I said it brings attachment and--”

Color sprouts on his cheeks. “Mom!” There's no way he's about to have this conversation again. “I'm not biting anyone, for the last time. I've gotta go.” To free up his hands he nudges the phone into the crook of his shoulder, lazily saying his goodbyes as he gathers his books for class. He grabs a pen from the brontosaurus organizer on his bookshelf, gives his room a last critical look, and steps into the hallway. As he's jiggling the doorknob to make sure it actually locks, music from next door starts to thump through the wall, calling a frown to his lips. At least he doesn't have a roommate.

He cuts a diagonal through the parking lot, noting that the dull concrete below almost matches the blanket of clouds above him, though the cover does absolutely nothing to cool the stuffy humidity hanging off of everything like a parasite. The dining hall at least has AC, but he resigns himself to discomfort all day. He valiantly fights a yawn, assuming nothing but food will cut through his haze of grogginess. But as he reaches into his bag to find his wallet, something buzzes over him and gives him pause. It's just beyond his nose, not quite a scent at all, yet close enough that he could probably identify it if he could just get a strong enough whiff. The kid at the desk clears his throat loudly and Tsukishima whips his head back around, sliding his ID across the scanner and mumbling an apology before heading into the hall. He glances back the way he came, but all hints of the smell-not-smell are already gone.

The half bowl of rice he'd managed to get down sits like a gritty rock in the bottom of his stomach, but the pear he nibbles on the way to his freshman composition course is a lot more palatable. He's never been too keen on writing, as much as Yamaguchi has always enjoyed it, but he’s banking on some of those writing skills having passed onto him. Afterwards he texts Akiteru about when he's allowed to visit (he isn't), and considers lunch while squinting at the bit of sun not obscured by clouds. Funny, he should be starving by now. But hey, college students aren't made of money, so if he can save on a meal that's all the better. Like a beacon, Foregrounds stands off to his left, nearly empty thanks to the rumor that unlike its coffee, its sandwiches leave much to be desired.

He buys the freshest-looking strawberry muffin in the case and swallows away a flash of embarrassment at being recognized by the barista this early in the semester. Something from the open window behind her makes his head jerkup. It disappears in an instant, but there was...

What was it? Something kind of sharp and mildly insistent, again not quite a smell, but...

“Oh, Tsukishima.”

He turns to find Akaashi hunched over a small stack of papers, which are riddled with red marks upon closer inspection. “Akaashi.” He nods, removing the shrink wrap and wrinkling his nose at the heady, overly-sweet scent from the muffin. “Are you a writing fellow or something?”

He smiles lightly and looks down to underline another phrase. “Something like that. Trying to make sure Bokuto doesn't fail himself off the team.”

With a smirk he bites into the soft top of the muffin. “You're a good man, Akaashi. I'll hold a moment of silence for you.” He sneezes.

“That would be appreciated. You okay? Allergies?”

He shrugs, still probing the mushy sweetness in his mouth. Perhaps it would have been better to skip a meal all together. “Someone must be talking about me.” He's half joking. “Well, I'll leave you to it. Tell them I said hi, I guess.” _ Them _ because he's sure wherever Bokuto is found, Kuroo is often not far to follow.

Akaashi hums in confirmation, focus back on the essay, but looks up again when Tsukishima turns to leave. “You look good,” he starts, pointing at the shallow canines in his own mouth. “Take care of yourself.”

“That's the plan.”

It's several days later when Tsukishima rolls out of bed, limbs feeling foregin from a cold that had terrorized him after one particularly nasty all-nighter. He had made an effort to keep up with the rest of his school work, but with a grimace at his most recent problem sets he knows that pulling his Chem grade up is going to take a small miracle, and probably some brown-nosing. Music thumps aggressively through the thin plaster of his wall, but he doesn't even bat an eyelash and focuses on retrieving his books from beneath a jacket that has slid to the floor. He's pretty sure there's a quiz next week, not that he knows what part of the chapter they're on. Or have they moved onto a new one? The slam of his door is lost in a yawn, and he prays that Yachi is half as informed as she is usually anxious. 

Blinking blearily into the afternoon sunlight, he refuses to even approach the study group chat until he's had at least one coffee. As sad as he is to admit it, he can't order from any place on campus that isn't Foregrounds anymore. He’s a caffeine cult sell-out, Yamaguchi might even go so far as to say a “basic bitch”. So after a long trek he stumbles through the door with an appropriate amount of resignation and late-afternoon disorientation. He feels a bit like he just took a spike to the head, and it doesn't help that he runs into Kuroo while waiting at the edge of the counter for his order. The frown doesn't fall from his face, but he figures he'll at least acknowledge him this time. “Kuroo.”

He stands a little taller when he sees Tsukishima. “Hey man...you okay?”

Jeez, that bad? He waves him off. “Pulled an all-nighter, got sick, something keeps stinging my nose, and I’m probably going to fail this test...” A tickle at the edge of his nostrils has his attention trailing off. He studies Kuroo, watches the shine of his dark eyes and the small crest of a vein on his cheek. Does he feel that same weird sensation? There's probably a fair amount of blood in that vein. He forcibly scowls down at the counter, suddenly noticing his coffee there for the first time. “And I can't focus. I don't know, maybe I'm dying.”

Kuroo says nothing for a long time, gathering his cappuccino from the counter and drizzling honey over the top. He stirs that in and takes a sip before looking back over at Tsukishima with a decidedly neutral expression. “Just coffee today? It’s past lunch you know.”

Actually, when _ has _ he eaten last?

He doesn’t wait for a response. “Well, I can help with Chem if you ever need it. Or anything else. Really.” He takes another sip and Tsukishima watches the way his eyes flutter closed in satisfaction from the corner of his eye. “Weird question, but you _ haven’t _ ever bitten anyone, right? I never clarified last time and, I don't know, I was kind of curious?”

Tsukishima continues pouring cream into his coffee and gives him a judgmental side eye. “Why do you ask?” His eyes drop down to the valley of Kuroo's neck between his collarbones, partially exposed in a V neck. Then he stares back at his Americano, stirring with great concentration.

“God Tsukki, it’s like pulling teeth with you.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Smell me.”

Earth tilts on its axis, wrenching his head in Kuroo’s direction and flinging his eyebrows up into orbit.

“Don't look at me like that! I'm not going to prank you. Just,” he huffs, “come on.”

He angles his body so that he can face Kuroo directly, and takes him in. It’s a weird request, made even weirder because some part of him actually wants to comply. He would chalk that up to a lingering sick delirium, but he’d listened to Kuroo before when he sounded crazy, in that training camp years ago. He hadn’t steered him wrong then. So Tsukki leans in without taking a step, expertly ignoring the wispy curtain of Kuroo's eyelashes. He means to take a shallow inhale but his diaphragm overpowers him, pressing down to take a full-bodied whiff of the air resting over Kuroo's skin. It's musky and deep like wet Earth and prickles a bit as it burrows beneath the hairs in his nose, cloying up the back of his throat and causing goosebumps to crest over his back. _ Oh _. Kuroo chuckles, the sound vibrating along his jugular and through Tsukishima's ear. He shoots back, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“What is this,” He demands. His hands are shaking and what's left of that scent licks playfully where the back of his tonsils hang in his throat. Not that he's thinking about it.

That Cheshire smile returns, his body still leaning from where Tsukishima had stood in his space. “That's what’s ‘stinging’ your nose, right? It's biological.” He shrugs, allowing a teasing lilt to his voice. “It's only going to get worse if you don't bite me. Then it'll go away.”

“Ugh.” Nonbiter’s Fatigue. Fucking _ grand _.

“And if,” he continues, but when Tsukishima addresses him with a raised eyebrow he pauses, fingering the hem of his shirt. “I mean. If you ever wanted…” His eyebrows crumple into a broken line and he sighs soundlessly. “Nevermind. Your number the same? I'll text you the address for the party.”

When he leaves Tsukishima stands alone with his coffee and the implication of what Kuroo didn’t say. Like a voyeur he watches the last of the cream thread through the liquid like greedy pale fingers in a mass of dark hair. He works through his coffee in gulps, relishing in how the liquid scorches the inside of his lips and burns out the ache in his canines, filling his nose with the smell of espresso. The compatibility in their blood must have made Kuroo almost offer..._ that _. It's got to go both ways, right? He nods to himself, watching the last drops of coffee leach out of the cup and leave white walls in its place, unaltered beyond a dull brown film. His frown is thoughtful when he tosses it and pushes back into the brisk wind, accidental words explained away and by the end of his next class, blessedly forgotten.

When Tsukishima’s nap (his manager swears by them) is interrupted later by three quick knocks on the door, he initially stares at it in confusion. After quickly sweeping a critical eye over the room, he decides it's decent enough for anybody and walks over to give the visitor his best glare. “Kuroo?” He asks instead, slowly looking him up and down as though the reason for his appearance is hidden in the folds of his clothing. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you're not dead,” he replies easily, dangling a plastic bag in front of him until Tsukishima takes it.

There's a sandwich inside. He frowns deeply at him, feeling the crease between his eyebrows but unable to stop it. “Thank you.” It's stilted, though heartfelt. “But how do you know where I live?”

“I have my ways,” he purrs, waggling his eyebrows. At Tsukishima's deadpan stare, he elaborates, “I'm one of the TAs for all the freshman Chem classes, and I know Akaashi. Those are my ways. You seriously didn't know this?”

Only now does he vaguely remember seeing a name that could have been Kuroo's on the syllabus. His eyes widen behind his glasses. “Thank god. I am screwed for this test and Mihara probably can’t wait to fail me. I don't even know what I don't know.”

Kuroo snickers. “Well actually, I've known him for a couple of years now. He likes seeing extra effort, so if you do tutoring with a TA, it'll probably help?” He thinks for a moment and nods to himself. “You're pretty smart, so I bet we could get you caught up in an hour, though of course I'll sign off on the whole thing. You free tomorrow?”

He nods and then narrows his eyes, suspicious. “Wait, isn't that against the integrity of your position or something?”

Kuroo snorts. “I'm just trying to get brownie points for when I’m looking for internships next year. Also, I'm like, super kind.” Kuroo leans on the door frame quietly while Tsukishima withdraws into the room to place the sandwich on his desk. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” He stops rubbing his cheek, unaware of when he'd started. “Yeah. My teeth hurt, they've been aching all day.”

Kuroo tilts his head once more with a sympathetic hum. “But you're good? It's not messing with your focus or anything?”

Tsukishima grunts, the concern releasing unfamiliar jitters in his belly. “I'm fine.” He almost thanks him for the sandwich again but thinks better of it. “ I'll see you tomorrow.” It's a good angle, when Kuroo tilts his head. Even the ugly glow from his overhead light simmers in his eyes, causing the brown of them to appear complicated and warm.

  
He stands up straight and sticks his hands into his pockets. “Yup, in the reference section of the main floor. Don't be late,” he sing-songs, winking.

He rolls his eyes and closes the door in Kuroo's face, but gently. Kuroo is so weird. And nice. And weird, always has been. He wonders why he'd waste his time bringing food to an ungrateful underclassman such as himself, but decides he couldn't hope to discover Kuroo's motivations for most things. He peeks back in at the sandwich and works on one of his assignments. Later that night, he skypes with Yamaguchi for a long time, and briefly calls his brother, Kuroo the furthest thing from his mind. But as he slips off to sleep the last thing he imagines is the thrum of a pulse beneath his lips.

He wakes unexpectedly early and can't coax sleep back to him. After admitting defeat, he takes his sweet time preparing for the day and is actually able to learn a little something from his study group before he abandons Chem to finish revising his draft for Composition. After that he retrieves the sandwich from his mini fridge, nudging the turkey and lettuce at least down his throat, and giving the tomato a wide, _ wide _ berth. He can only get through two pieces before his throat practically closes on him, but it was bought specifically for him so he had to try. Only now that he knows he’s got the stupid Fatigue does he recognize lack of hunger as the textbook symptom it is. 

But even his great appetite drama only lasts so long until he's left staring out the window, drumming his fingers on the desk. Suddenly he leaps out of his seat and tosses a few odds and ends into his bag along with a bottle of detergent. He can't possibly focus on anything else without a change of pace, so he walks to the laundromat, happy for once that it's such a distance from his dorm. Everyone and their mom usually leaves it for the weekend, so aside from the local news mumbling in the background, he’s got the place to himself. Though, the first two washer machines he tries are out of order, and the dryer takes three tries to get the job done. As he wrestles his laundry back through his room’s door later, he decides that may be why he had no competition for the space.

His skin is boiling and sensitive like the sunburns he and the other kids were prone to while young, and he throws himself onto the bed for a minute, listening to the endless chatter of traffic from the highway nearby while the sunlight meanders above. The evening air lays thick on him, and he waits for it to seep through the crumpled blankets before finally looking at the radio clock on his desk. With not a lot of time before he has to meet Kuroo, he tips out of bed with a grunt and shuffles over to his desk. He hasn't eaten since the sandwich innards this morning, hasn’t eaten a meal since at least the night before last. It's a fact he cannot ignore in the stale light of early evening. Malnutrition isn’t a bucket list item he wants to check from his first semester, but what's the point, when everything tastes like ash?

The day is still warm, and he weaves through the evening crowd on his way to the library. Like whipped cream, the quiet of it settles over him lightly, and though he never really spent all that much time in them as a child, he appreciates the flip in expectation of the library, the way quiet and reserved is the default and not the abnormality. With a quick sweep over the warm-toned wooden shelves and the plush burgundy couches, he spots Kuroo at a corner table by a small window. Even seated, his posture is tall and unbothered, and with a prick of aggravation he notices the frameless reading glasses perched over his nose, the way they suit him and make him look attractive in that studious way, like a TA probably should. 

He dumps his bag unceremoniously on the table, and if it startles Kuroo then that's all the better. “Let's get this over with.”

Kuroo's face blooms into a smile as cozy as their surroundings. “Good to see you too, Tsukki.” He snickers at his singular raised eyebrow, removing the glasses. Pity. “I mean it.” He gestures to the other chair and waits with the afterthought of the smile on his lips.

Studying goes as well as it can when half of his brain is tracking the dance of light over Kuroo's skin, practically throbbing with the desire to...to....Tsukishima doesn't even know what, but thankfully he picks up the material relatively quickly once he figures out what he's expected to know. They're through the bulk of it a little over halfway in, and Kuroo hops up with the intent to grab celebratory coffee and pastries, his treat. He's out of his seat before Tsukishima comes up with a way to say no to that genuine enthusiasm, and faced suddenly with an empty seat and a thunderous toothache, he turns his gaze to the glittering street lights out the window. 

“All right,” Kuroo says once he returns, cradling three baked goods in the crook of one elbow and grasping a medium sized coffee in each hand, “I couldn’t remember if you were more of a savory or sweet guy, so I got one of each.” 

He watches the three tumble onto the tabletop and tries not to feel guilty. “Wow, two pastries? What a good date.”

“I know, right? I'm so great at wooing.” 

Tsukishima snorts and considers the two options, a strawberry and cheese danish and a prosciutto and pepper scone. He pulls the strawberry one towards him, regardless of the fact that his stomach is a rock and he feels no more enticed by food than he did this morning, or two nights before that. “Thanks.” He sips at the coffee instead, hoping the fresh heat of it will burn the ache out of his mouth like it did the last time.

“So.” Kuroo looks at him, eyes wide and dark, and it feels a bit like floundering in the pool when he was young, which is dramatic but the lights in the library are soft and he can't think past the itch of his jaw. “Dogs or cats?”

He blinks with a heavy deadpan stare. “Seriously?”

Kuroo laughs, tickled by his response. “Yes, seriously. You can learn a lot about a person by their answer,” he takes a slow bite of his own pastry, a ham and cheese croissant, without breaking eye contact, “And I want to learn more about you.”

For a moment Tsukishima can't think, enraptured by the movement of Kuroo's adam's apple, admiring the working of his muscles, and feels his face warm under that stare. He forces himself to look out the window again, unable to completely erase the pleased smile that dances over his lips. “Um, okay.” Outside, cloud cover has dimmed the clarity of the lights. “Not into the whole ‘mysterious enigma’ angle?”

Kuroo hums, finally releasing him from that simmering stare. “It’s certainly got its appeal, but I want to be clear about what I want, without being pushy. Sometimes you have to pull.”

He almost hurts himself with how hard he rolls his eyes. “I will humor you, but only if you never tell a terrible joke like that again.” He increases his volume slightly to be heard over the low rumble of Kuroo’s chluckles. “I like dogs. They're obedient and always happy to see you.” He smiles softly, adding, “and kind of stupid.” _ And fluffy _, he doesn't tack on, pointedly not looking at the soft-seeming mop on Kuroo's head. He grips the coffee cup closer to his lips, willing his brain to function.

“Hm? I always pegged you for a cat guy,” Kuroo returns, oblivious. “I'm more into cats myself, and not just because of Nekoma. They've got so much personality.”

“Even the assholes?”

“_ Especially _the assholes.”

He tries and fails to hide another ghost of a grin, focus split between the need to get closer to Kuroo and the warmth of their corner. They talk for a while, trading quips and stories and Tsukishima is a little surprised at how well he can keep up with the conversation, the way Kuroo exasperates him at times but doesn't leave him feeling worn. It’s kind of how they used to be, but better with time, like wine. If he's honest, he's having fun. A while later he watches Kuroo chuckle and reflexively bites into the paper of his cup, hard, and forces a swallow. The movement jostles down the skin of Kuroo’s throat and suddenly Tsukishima is leaning over the small table, just a bit, because he really just needs to stretch.

“Not hungry?” Kuroo interrupts, halting his slow advance. Tsukishima squints his eyes in confusion and Kuroo points at the untouched danish.

It dawns on him then that he is entirely too close. This whole thing has gotten entirely too close. He eases back. “Ah, yeah, I haven't been that hungry.” Kuroo is looking at him differently now, alert and calculating. He fiddles with the cardboard sleeve of the cup. “Just recently. Nothing to worry about.” He's pouting at the cup now, not that he'd ever admit it. Fatigue sweeps over him like a cloud, and he doesn't want to talk about food.

“Tsukishima.” He can't help it, he looks up, just over the top of his glasses, where Kuroo's prying gaze is fractured just so. “When's the last time you've eaten?”

His tone is worried, like they're closer than TA and student, than old friends reconnecting. He frowns and springs out of the chair, knocking over the empty cup in his haste to collect his things. The concern warms him, invades him. His crush is getting out of hand. “I don't know. Been kind of busy getting my grades back in order.” He goes to leave and aborts, awkwardly. “Thanks for tutoring me. And for the snacks, I guess. I'll see you Friday?” He doesn't mean for it to lilt upwards, off-balance and unsure the way he feels, but it's out there now and the quick way he stood fills him with vertigo, pushes the tooth pain up through his brain until everything north of his neck is a bruise. He swipes the danish into his bag on autopilot.

So desperately is he focused on leaving and not thinking about the desk lamp highlighting the soft lines of Kuroo's neck that he doesn't notice Kuroo standing too until he's shot an arm out to stop him. “Tsukki, please. I'm worried about you. If you're not eating...” He tries again, “I promise it won't be anything weird...” He doesn't need to look up to know that Kuroo is talking about his neck. The bite, invitation hanging open like the end of his statement.

But unlike before, his head is swimming and their corner is quiet and softly lit, and with the eyes of a predator he intently stares at the bottom of Kuroo's neck from the edge of his eye. _ Just one bite _ he thinks, already close enough to brush against Kuroo's jugular with the sensitive skin of his upper lip. The contact sends a jolt from his lips to his toes, sizzling down the skin of his stomach and everything below it, and with an almost painful need he shuts his eyes, mouth opening automatically.

“Oh, my bad!” A student interjects, backing away from their table after she comes upon them from an aisle of books. She looks neither impressed nor surprised by their close proximity, eyebrows dipped in exhaustion as she shuffles back between the shelves, but the interruption shocks Tsukishima back into his body, and he forces himself away from Kuroo, looking at him with wide, wild eyes.

His mind is blank. His hands are shaking. “S-sorry,” he mutters, though he doesn't know what for. Kuroo's expression is complicated, and the way he stands still curved to receive Tsukishima makes him look vulnerable. Tsukishima pivots on a heel and strides quickly out of the library, towards his dorm. He does not look back. Once he's safely behind the closed door, the fatigue rolls him through an abbreviated nighttime routine, mercifully lowering him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Chem is cancelled the next day since Mihara is out of town, and Tsukishima starts the morning curled beneath some blankets at his desk, gnawing on a tasteless carrot like some kind of animal, and miserable, miserable, _ miserable. _Akaashi texts him once, Yamaguchi calls him twice, and an unknown number calls him once more. He ignores them all, watching the untouched danish with a glazed over expression through the haze of his headache. He’s never heard of anybody getting Nonbiter’s Fatigue this bad, so with an uncharacteristic amount of self-pity he is not at all surprised that it would happen to him.

Wednesday he moves to the bed and sleeps through most of the day.

Thursday he decides he's...moped? Suffered? Long enough, and forces himself into the shower and out of the dorm with the intent to buy vitamins, just so his body has something to work on for however long he can't bring himself to eat. He trails the feeble sunlight all the way to the lower, older side of campus for the shittier school store, hoping to run into as few people as possible, and with it being that weird time in late afternoon, he's sure it won't be busy. So of course he doesn't even make it to the store proper when he turns a corner and sees the exact person he wants to see least, leaning casually against the administration building and talking with someone. 

Tsukishima curses under his breath, but after watching warily for a few moments he realizes...that he doesn't feel so bad. Yeah, the throbbing is there, and the headache, but not nearly as bad as it was the last two days. With a wry smile he thinks that he's finally out of the woods with this stupid Nonbiter’s Fatigue. His body has finally gotten with the program. He's still watching though, idly. It turns out Kuroo is chatting with Yachi, from class, and from his position around the crumbling brick he gets a full glimpse of Kuroo's wide smile, the easy way he rubs Yachi's hair and causes her to squawk and push him away with a laugh. He doesn't feel as unstable as before, as physically needy, but to watch him interact with her like that still releases a dark and gloomy puss inside him. It bleeds all over and dries into a sticky gross sap, and with a frown he dips back around the corner to head to the school store the back way. The intense compatibility is over, but he isn't a fool, realizes Kuroo endeared himself more than he'd thought. 

One of his favorite artists released a new album, which Tsukishima cranks through his headphones all of Friday morning from the moment he wakes up until the moment Professor Mihara strolls in with a stack of thick stapled exams. He doesn’t so much not feel Kuroo’s eyes on him from his little TA desk in the corner of the room, as he ignores it with a fierce apathy that high school him would envy. There’s a headache as obnoxious as Nishinoya’s voice driving screws into this temples, and the vitamins he’d taken swish in his stomach with every swallow of water he takes throughout the test. But he can do this. He’s been through worse. Of course the broken AC doesn’t help anything, sweat collecting beneath the rims of his glasses and forcing him to take hot breaths over each blank he mulls over. There are absolutely too many long reading passages on this test, and with each passing moment his stomach decides that even the vitamins are too much. In fact, they might have to go. 

He swallows down a gulp of something unpleasant. Just three more questions. 

At last, he finishes, as sure as he could be that he’s done a good job, with a headache the size of a grapefruit squatting in his brain. Professor Mihara is playing a phone game when he places his exam on top of the stack, and he realizes belatedly that he is the second-to-last person to finish. But at _ least _ he’s finished. He leaves the room, bag hanging lazily from his shoulder as the door shuts behind him. Then his stomach revolts again, and he hunches over, crushing his eyes shut with the effort of keeping his stupid vitamins in his stomach where they belong. 

When he opens his eyes, Yachi is there, holding a packet of tissues and a bottle of antacids. She smiles, the bags beneath her eyes betraying a similar amount of suffering over this stupid test. “I heard you haven’t been feeling well, and this stuff always works for me.” He takes them, mouth pitching into a complicated frown. “The tissues are from Kuroo, though. He can’t leave until everybody’s done, but he gave them to me to give you, on the way out.” She adjusts her side ponytail absently. “That test was the worst, huh? Want to get lunch or something?”

He wishes she’d stop talking, gulping more water than necessary to wash down a spike of discontent along with the medicine. He wants to be annoyed with her, for acting so close to Kuroo yesterday, but when he looks back at her warm, open expression the feeling wilts. They know each other too, and they seemed to be having fun joking around. Anybody who’d seen would agree they made a nice pair.

Just because he’s still plagued by an immature school boy crush doesn’t mean he can act like one. His stomach settles for the moment and he stands up fully, features softening. “Sure.”

He spends the meal pushing a few dumplings around and around his bowl, occasionally stopping to sip the soup, and tries to listen while she rambles about some of her marketing courses. He doesn’t even frown when she mentions Shimizu invited her to the night’s party as well. Yamaguchi would be proud. Or he’d tell him not to be so self-pitying. The thought makes him chuckle. 

Speaking of, when he gets out of work that evening, it’s to three missed voicemails from his friend. Yamaguchi picks up on the first ring. “You called three times and couldn’t leave one message?” 

His voice is high and airy, garbled by background noise until Yamaguchi closes a door. “Hi Tsukki! Tell me about that party!”

He huffs. “It hasn’t even happened yet.”

“Lame. I wanted to hear all about you biting Kuroo for the first time.” He makes a childish teeth-clacking noise. “Since you guys are practically dating.”

He almost drops his room key. “What the hell are you _ talking _ about?”

“I saw that picture of you at the library, on his Instagram,” he starts accusingly, and Tsukishima can imagine him with his hand on his hip. “That was a mighty soft grin you were giving him!” He hums thoughtfully and Tsukishima curbs his comeback to let him speak. “Maybe your symptoms are so bad because you like him? Because you still like him, don’t you.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi.” The response is instant. “I’ve got to get ready to go to this totally normal non-party to congratulate some of the upperclassmen, where I’m definitely not going to bite Kuroo.”

He laughs, undeterred. “I didn’t hear a denial!”

“Goodbye, Yamaguchi. How about you worry about that girlfriend of yours, instead of my non-existent love life.” The [CALL ENDED] screen is extremely satisfying. 

He showers quickly just to get the clinging stench of old books that cost entirely too much money off of his skin. A simple white Tee shirt with a Pterodactyl peeking out of the upper pocket looks good enough to him, and he pairs it with some black jeans that he thinks look good, as well as a denim overshirt because it's getting cooler out. It’s not a bad look, not that he has anyone he’s really hoping to impress. Because he’s not trying to impress Kuroo, that’s for sure. Living off vitamins and choked-down energy bars doesn’t sound healthy, but he’s optimistic that he’s over the hill of this stupid condition and will be able to return to actual food soon. His box of pumpkin-flavored energy bars is empty, however, so it’ll have to be the day’s vitamins, coffee, and that handful of almonds after Composition that gets him through the night. 

Work was busier than usual, and he’s tired as he stalks up the hill to the address Kuroo texted him the other day, and with weary eyes he counts a lot more vehicles on the street along the house than he was hoping. He’s got a good group of people he’ll know, but he has no idea how many people have been invited. When Bokuto wraps him in a smothering hug and drags him inside the cocktail of booming music and low lights, only to abandon him in a sea of swaying bodies, his energy bank sprouts a leak and begins to drain--fast.

It’s...really hard to see, the shadows of the living room and hallway interrupted only by swaths of orange and purple light that come from scarves looped over the ceiling lamps in the rooms he walks through. It makes the house seem unreal, and the swelling base of some foreign song loping out of the speakers helps to remove the scene even further from reality. Tsukishima enters the small current of strangers walking somewhere, until he is gratefully spat into the kitchen. It’s brighter, here, and the mass of bodies is traded for a plethora of half-empty bottles clogging up the counter-space.

“You made it,” Akaashi calls from behind the sink, where he scoops ice into three cups before expertly grabbing for a few specific bottles out of the masses. “Bokuto said he’d lost you, and I got worried.”

“I’m a freshman, not a dog,” is what he says, but coming across someone he knows is a welcome difference to a few seconds ago. His mouth splits in a yawn. “I thought this was supposed to be ‘not quite a party’?”

Akaashi smiles apologetically. “They always say that, and then they get excited and invite a bunch more people.” He sighs, but looks at ease in the peninsula of the kitchen, with chaos beckoning on the other side of the doorway. His eyebrows pinch just enough to be noticable. “If you’re tired though, you don’t have to stay long. Kuroo’s in the back of the house. I’m glad you made time to come by.”

From how he says it, Tsukishima figures seeing him is non-negotiable before he can leave. He cleans his glasses to keep from yawning again, suddenly even more fatigued than when he’d arrived. “Okay, thanks.”

He makes his way back into the throng, fighting against the flow of traffic a little to reach a room further back, where the deep valleys of Kuroo’s voice filter from under a doorway. He ignores the way he perks up at the sound, easing the door open to find a living room with fewer people than the front room, and most of them he knows. Shimizu and Yachi don’t even acknowledge him, leaning against the wall in the corner and having a close conversation with their fingers interwoven as they casually hold hands. Bokuto, Kuroo, and two people he doesn’t recognize look up from the couch, Smash Bros unpaused on the screen. 

“Tsukki!” Bokuto shouts before whipping his head in Kuroo’s direction. “Bro, I told you I’d let him in! I’m so crushed you didn’t believe me! You owe me like six bags of gummy worms.”

Kuroo pays him no mind, jumping from the couch and tossing his controller to one of the other people before making a beeline for the doorway, and Tsukishima just beyond it. “Hey, you made it,” he says, voice slightly louder than the volume of the TV but grin beaming loud. 

His collar is half flipped from his position on the couch, and Tsukishima places his hands in his pockets so he won’t do something uncalled for like fix it for him. “Mmhm, I made it.” God, doesn’t he have anything else to say? His brain is on vacation, helpfully informing him that Kuroo looks very good, smells even better, and then doesn’t say much else. “Uh,” he continues, trailing off into nothing.

Kuroo’s grin never falls, and they do nothing but stare at each other for a beat, until someone dies on screen. “Let me give you a tour!” He grabs Tsukishima by the shoulders and turns him towards the doorway, which Tsukishima only allows because he is stuck processing the skitter of sparks that burst in his skin from the touch. Just as Kuroo reaches from around him for the doorknob, the entire slab of wood flies forward, making a hollow slam as it connects with Tsukishima’s forehead.

Vaguely, he can hear Kuroo yelling at someone, but his head is spinning so he closes his eyes. It’s very much like getting hit with a volleyball, only harder. He grimaces, bringing a hand gingerly upward, first to his glasses. Once he finds them scratched but not broken, he lifts that hand to his forehead, which he notes with relief is only bleeding a little. The darkness behind his eyes is even more disorienting though, so he opens his eyes.

Before him, Kuroo’s eyes are dark craters and he is a slave to gravity that begs to fall in. “Are you all right, Tsukki?” He grabs his wrist delicately and leads him out into the hallway, farther back. “The first aid kit’s in the bathroom, come on.” Still fighting vertigo along with the desire to make Kuroo grab his hand, he follows without any protest. He’d put some kind of cologne on, he realizes, something woodsy and light that mixes beautifully with his natural scent. If his head wasn’t hurting so bad he’d almost be angry about how good it smells.

The bathroom is tiny, so Kuroo disappears inside, leaving Tsukishima to lean against the wall in the back of the house, where the lights are low but the hallway is empty aside from them. As soon as he disappears Tsukishima wants him back. When he returns with the box Tsukishima feels that scent like a storm during monsoon season. He's panting now, quietly, only irritated that he's reacting _ like this _ outside some shitty bathroom in a forgotten hallway with half of his mind. The other half is trying desperately to focus on anything other than the fact that Kuroo is physically in front of him and smells unacceptably divine. “Kuroo,” he whines, vastly failing on the whole focus part.

“Shit, did it hurt? You probably wouldn't be so clumsy if you'd actually eaten something in the last few days.” He gingerly removes Tsukishima's glasses and dabs at the small amount of blood on his forehead, tutting like an old hen. He drops down to grab something from the open box on the floor.

“Kuroo,” he insists, leaning roughly against the wall in an effort to stay upright. The idiot still thinks he's in pain from hitting his head on the door earlier. He glares at the blob of color that must be Kuroo's neck highlighted by the cream light spilling from the open bathroom door. He wants to see, but more importantly, he wants to touch.

“I know, I know.” Kuroo plants a band aid in a diagonal across his forehead and Tsukishima makes an almost growling noise. He most certainly does not know. “Man Tsukki, are you sure you're okay? You seem a bit...” he cuts himself off, teeth making an audible _ click _.

He's been dragging a tongue over his canines for the past two minutes. “I need.” Speaking is too difficult. He reaches an arm out and snags a handful of soft jersey fabric, using it to pull Kuroo towards him. Sometimes you need to pull, after all. “Can I bite you?”

Kuroo goes corpse-still in his grip and he pouts. Maybe he'd read this whole thing wrong? “Are you sure you want to?”

Oh god, he would willingly do seventeen projects with his useless study group if that's what it took to get his teeth in Kuroo's skin. But he does not say this. “Yeah.” 

“Okay. Oh, wait.” He glares in a general direction and Kuroo chuckles, before he suddenly reappears in HD clarity, voice deeper than he ever remembers. “Just thought you'd want all your senses for this.”

Tsukishima nods, now suddenly nervous at the prospect of biting Kuroo. He'd been so forward, but he doesn't even know what to do. Is there an order to this?

Kuroo smiles softly at him, causing little fireflies to rise in his stomach and nudge playfully along its sides. “Don't worry. Your body kind of knows what to do. Here,” he tilts his neck towards him, and Tsukishima tightens his grip around the fabric, almost capsized in the wave of Kuroo's scent. He can't escape it. He never wants to.

With a deep breath he slowly moves close to the base of Kuroo's neck, maintaining eye contact in case he changes his mind. But as he approaches, he has to look away. There's a current of something both predatory and needy in those eyes, something that he suspects is mirrored in his own. He isn't ready to face that just yet. This is simply to get over the Nonbiter’s Fatigue, he can deal with his emotions later. When he opens his mouth a breath shudders out, hot, and when it touches Kuroo's skin he makes a quiet, wanting sound. Tsukishima can't even focus on it because in the next moment his lips are draped gently over Kuroo's skin, relishing in the sensation of fine hairs, of a mole somewhere beneath his upper lip, and the matching heat created by the surge of blood just beneath. He releases Kuroo's shirt, drops his hands to his hips and brings him in, almost without thinking about it.

Then, finally, the tips of his canines press against the flesh until they've just barely punctured, and a rusty warm liquid begins trickling out, pooling together until it is a steady stream in the suction of his lips. Involuntarily he shivers, sucking out the viscous offering enthusiastically, like he couldn't be embarrassed if he tried. He swipes his tongue over the plane of skin covering a cord of muscle intermittently, making sure to capture any drop that he might miss. The flavor changes quickly, and his eyes blow open once he recognizes the flavor. It surges over his tongue and lingers for just a moment, earthy and burning just the slightest bit before becoming addictively sweet.

Black pepper and honey.

“Tsukki,” Kuroo pants, voice feeble, and in a panic he forces himself to release Kuroo's neck. There's a big purple bruise tipped on both sides by the puckering canine wounds, and he feels a spike of pleasure before it rots into sickly apprehension. Did it hurt? It probably hurt.

He can't bear to release his hips too, so he only moves back a little. Self-consciously, he raises one hand drags the back of it along his lips for any residue. “Sorry. You okay?” His voice is shot, throat coated in the remnant hold of Kuroo's blood. It’s difficult to ignore how that thrills him.

Kuroo is the farthest thing from okay, but not for the reason he expects. His eyes are black holes in a veil of lashes, lip punctured beneath his own teeth as though he'd been fighting himself for control. His cheeks and nose are a rash of embarrassment that grabs his attention, like he hadn't been feeding enough and the extra blood needed somewhere else to go. Neither of them says anything, panting and gazing at each other, and Kuroo's hips are hot coals in his loose grip. “The red.” Kuroo finally begins, pausing to take a breath. “It looks good on you.”

It's Tsukishima's turn to blush, dropping his hands and turning to leave, but this time Kuroo is quicker. He grabs his wrist with only a small amount of pressure. “Sorry, I'm not making fun of you. And this is bad timing but I, I'm glad you bit me. I've dreamt about you biting me for a long time, actually,” he chuckles nervously, and that alone is enough to quiet Tsukishima's panic.

“Even though you didn't get the Fatigue?” He asks, not confident enough to turn back and face him. 

Kuroo comes close behind him but doesn't crowd into his space, and his voice is warm, like the glow of a lamp in the night. “You know that's a myth, right?” Tsukishima turns to glare at him then, and he laughs outright. “Sorry, bad joke. Yes really. In fact,” he shifts his hand down until he's intertwined their fingers. “I'd love if you went on a date with me this weekend. You don't even have to bite me. I'd just love if you showed up.”

Tsukishima studies him, the wrinkle in the shirt from where he'd roughly grabbed it, the way he never had a chance at getting over Kuroo, not in the past and certainly not now. It’s like he’s right back where he started, but they get to move forward this time. He's glad they ran into each other that day too. “I think I can do that.”


End file.
